


Waiting Room

by generalsleepy



Series: Tumblr POTO Prompts [11]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: (fluffier than the tags make it seem), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Slash, Suicidal Thoughts, Waiting Rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 06:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15136943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalsleepy/pseuds/generalsleepy
Summary: Raoul and Hamid meet in a psychiatrist's waiting room, and feel a connection.





	Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the brilliant idea by eriks-magnificentcape on tumblr: _"Modern Raouga AU where their romance begins inside the waiting at the therapy. Raoul who’s been referred by a school for depression and officer Nadir being told by his boss to see a therapy after being suspected of PTSD."_

Rationally, Hamid knew it made sense for him to be there. Once he left the hospital following the shooting, he was placed on administrative leave and told to see the department psychiatrist. After an hour and a half session, the psych informed him that it wasn’t normal to sleep three hours a night because of nightmares, avoid leaving the house as much as possible, and start drinking every day because it stopped the persistent, unwelcome memories. **  
**

When the department psych told him his symptoms could fit with post traumatic stress disorder, he was briefly terrified his career was over. Instead, he had told him that he should see an outside psychiatrist, while his desk duty continued. He’d passed that recommendation on to the Captain, and she’d made certain he knew that while she couldn’t technically order him to see the therapist, she was, well, ordering him.

He knew that it was a good idea. But, as he sat in the waiting room, halfheartedly flipping through last month’s  _Time_  magazine, he still would have given anything to be anywhere else. He did not have a… natural talent for expressing his emotions. He couldn’t even begin to think how he would explain what he had been thinking and, worse, feeling, since the shooting.

He supposed that he had to trust that the trainer professional would know how to drag all the necessary information out of him, in spite of himself.

There were two other people in the waiting room. One woman was absorbed in her phone, perfectly casual. By contrast, the young man, maybe in his late teens or early twenties, was a visible ball of nerves. His leg bounced, and he seemed to be trying to focus on his phone, but kept breaking off to just stare at the floor or his knees.

Hamid wasn’t the only one who desperately wanted to be somewhere else.

Just as he realized he’d reached the point of staring, he registered just how beautiful the young man was. His lovely blond hair held back in a ponytail, with a few strands falling into his soft-featured face. He was slender and his skinny jeans highlighted well-built legs.

And, he was officially ogling. He looked away quickly, mentally chastising himself. Not only was he being rude, but at forty-six, he was too old to be thinking that way about a boy who looked maybe twenty-one at the oldest. And, add on top of all of that that this was happening in the waiting room of a psychiatric office.  _What in the hell, Hamid?_

He focused his attention back on the magazine. He still couldn’t fully put the ridiculously beautiful young man out of his mind. It wasn’t only his looks (Hamid promised himself), but he also wished there was something he could do about that miserable, helpless expression.

After about a minute, Hamid heard something fall over and a loud gasp. He looked up to see the blond staring in horror at a coffee cup on its side on the table, lid popped off, and a pool of coffee spreading. The young man picked up the cup and  looked around frantically for something to clean up the mess with. Finding nothing, he unrolled the sleeve of his flannel shirt and started using it to sop up coffee.

Hamid picked up the box of tissues next to him and quickly walked over to the young man’s side. “Here,” he said as he sat down. He pulled out a handful of tissues and took over cleaning up the spill.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded as though he had just been waiting for someone to apologize to. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” The spill was fairly small, and it didn’t take long for Hamid to finish wiping it up.

“Thank you so much.” The young man pushed away some magazines. The corner of a copy of  _Golf Digest_  was stained brown, but he looked as guilty and embarrassed as if he’d just broken a ming vase. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m a bit jumpy myself. I’m sure if I’d brought anything I would have knocked it over by now.” Hamid smiled.

He was relieved when the young man responded with his own weak smile. “Thanks. I’ve never really been to a therapist before, so, I guess, I’m just, kind of…”

“I haven’t been either, at least not in this setting. So, I understand nerves.” Hamid stood and took a few steps to toss the wad of tissues into a trashcan. “My name is Hamid,” he said, once he was sitting down again.

“Raoul.” The young man held out a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Raoul.” The hand was warm, and, dear God, this close he was even more handsome. His eyes were a beautiful blue and his blond hair looked temptingly soft, as did his pale skin. His cheeks were still rosy with blush. Hamid realized that he was still leering at an emotionally vulnerable boy half his age. Maybe he had more reasons than he had thought to bring to a psychiatrist.

“Thanks again,”

“That’s alright,” Hamid assured him. “No harm.”

“Sorry, I know that I keep babbling. I’m sorry. And, now I’m just…” Raoul took a deep breath. He twisted his fingers, looking like he wasn’t far from panic.

“It’s alright. If there was ever an excuse to be nervous, I think this would be it. ‘

To his relief, Raoul smiled faintly. “Sorry.”

Hamid realized it probably wouldn’t do much good to tell the young man he didn’t have to be sorry. He put a hand on Raoul’s shoulder and gave a little squeeze. “You’ll be alright.”

He had no way of really knowing, but he hoped that he sounded convincing. Though, then again, Raoul was young, sweet, and thoughtful. He hoped with all of the optimism he could scrape together that the young man would make it through whatever had brought him to this office.

He must have been convincing enough, because Raoul smiled again. “Thank you.” He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted when I nurse entered the waiting room.

“Rowl day Chag-nee?” she announced, looking at a clipboard.

“I’m guessing that’s not how you pronounce it,” Hamid said, based on Raoul’s expression.

Raoul laughed. “Not quite.” He picked up the cup as he stood. “It was nice meeting you, Hamid.”

“Likewise.”

Raoul gave him one more bright, gorgeous smile, then followed the nurse out of the waiting room.

Hamid stared at the doors after Raoul had left. He knew it was in his nature to want to help, often to put the interests of others above his own. He was also aware that the desk duty had left him feeling like he was failing in that regard. It good to be have the opportunity to help someone out, even in a small way, in the form of Raoul. It was especially heartening to be able to help someone as apparently sweet and good-natured as the young man. He didn’t think he’d had any interaction that meaningful in a long time—not since the shooting.

He regretted almost painfully that he would probably not see Raoul again. It was comforting, though, just to hope that whatever had brought the young man to this office, the doctors would be able to help him. 

* * *

Raoul had always known he was more anxious than normal. The near-constant worrying made him always doubt himself and feel like a failure. It got worse as he got older. By the time he was in college, away from his siblings, he was having regular episodes where he couldn’t get out of bed, because he knew he would only ruin something if he tried.

He would have uncontrollable crying jags. Mentally, everything just hurt and sometimes he just wanted it to stop.

He went to the campus therapist after he ended up staying in bed through a midterm. Because he was going to fall the test anyway, so why bother, and then it was too late to make it in time, and then he just lay there hating himself. At the very least, it was a wake up call that all of this wasn’t normal.

The campus therapist referred him to a psychiatrist in a hospital in his insurance network. He had forced himself to take the advice, as terrified as he was. He didn’t know whether he was more worried that the psychiatrist would tell him he was fine and he was just being a weakling, or that they would say there really was something seriously wrong with him.

The worrying only became worse when he made a mess in the waiting room. The words of the man who helped him had been comforting, in the moment, but he still felt terrible. He’d managed to inconvenience everyone, including the ludicrously handsome man he’d been sneaking guilty glances at.

The appointment went… better than he thought. He told someone that he didn’t want to die, but sometimes he just wished he could stop existing, and she just nodded, with no hint of judgment.  He poured out everything he’d been afraid and ashamed to say to anyone else.

At the end of the session, she told him point blank that he had all the signs of major depression. She said that they’d make a second appointment and after that she’d probably write him a prescription for an antidepressant. Maybe it was because of how she phrased it, but the news didn’t devastate him as much as he thought it would. There was at least a reason he felt and acted like this. There might even have been a way to change it.

He left the office genuinely feeling better than he did when he’d walked in.

He sat down and then pulled out his phone, planning to get a Lyft back to his dorm. First, though, he saw a text from his brother.

_How did it go?_

Raoul considered for a moment, then texted back:  _Good. I love you._ He left the page open, wondering if he should tell Philippe what the psychiatrist had said. He was smart enough to realize that conversation was definitely one that should happen over a call not a text. He had no idea how he would bring himself to do either, though. He didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone else. He’d already been too much of a burden. His throat tightened, and he had to blink frantically to force back tears.

He was still staring at the screen when he saw the man who had helped him out earlier—Hamid, he thought he remembered—reenter the waiting room.

Oh, God, he was handsome. He looked like he was in his mid-forties, tall and in good shape. He had thick, curly black hair and a neatly-trimmed beard. His dress shirt and slacks were perfect. Everything about him seemed out of place in a hospital waiting room. Raoul smiled before he could question whether or not that was weird. And, of course, it was weird, because he was all-but drooling over a near-stranger.

The man smiled back and then walked over to Raoul. “You’ve finished with your appointment also?”

“Yeah. I’m just calling a Lyft.”

“If you would like, I could give you a ride home.”

“Oh, you don’t have to you. I mean, I can get home on my own.”

“It’s no trouble. But, please don’t feel obligated to. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s just…” Raoul realized that his face was probably still blotchy and his eyes red from crying in the therapist’s office and nearly in the waiting room. “Sorry. I just don’t want to put you out.”

“Where do you need to be dropped off?”

“I live in a dorm at Columbia.”

“It’s not far from my apartment.” Hamid paused, then sighed as he ran a hand through his curls. “I’m sorry, I realize this sounds desperate at best. I suppose after this I would rather not be alone, and would prefer to be with someone who can..” He waved a hand vaguely.

“Understand?” Raoul hazarded. He had no idea what Hamid was there for–he definitely was more composed than Raoul had been–but it had to be something bad if it dragged him in there. He knew from experience that whatever it was wasn’t something a person shouldn’t be alone with.

Hamid nodded. “Yes.” For a moment, from behind the aura of calm gravitas, he looked profoundly tired and strained. Raoul could definitely understand that.

“A ride actually sounds great,” he said. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“I don’t want to you to feel obligated.”

“It’s no problem.” He realised as soon as the words were out of the mouth that this had to be what he sounded like to other people, with his constant worries about inconveniencing anyone else. “Lyft’s always kind of awkward, and it would really suck if I had to try to explain how my day was.”

Hamid smiled and chuckled. “I can imagine.”

Raoul stood up. “Is there anything you need to do, or…?”

“No, I’m ready to leave if you are.”

“Yeah.” Raoul hoped that his voice didn’t sound too obviously enthusiastic. His brain had now caught up to the fact that he was about to take a ride from possibly the most handsome man he had ever seen. He stepped back a moment to reflect on the fact that he had just been diagnosed with depression and he was still worrying about losing his cool around a hot guy.  

As they walked out of the building, Hamid asked Raoul about his major and listened with more interest than Raoul expected when he started babbling about physical oceanography. Hamid talked about his own job as a police detective. He was so absorbed in their conversation, he was surprised when he noticed that they were almost to the college. It had been a long time since he felt this comfortable in a conversation with another person. He realized he didn’t want the ride to end.

“You can let me out wherever,” Raoul said as they pulled into the parking lot.

When they pulled into a spot, though, he hesitated. “Thanks so much, Hamid. I really appreciate the ride and helping me out in the waiting room.”

“You’re welcome, Raoul. It’s been wonderful getting to talk with you.”

Raoul got the words out, before he could let himself think twice. “Would you maybe want to meet again? I mean, if I could get your number, or…” He winced at just how stupid he sounded.

To Raoul’s relief, Hamid smiled. “I would love to.”

“Thanks! Um, let me just…” He fumbled around in his bag for a notebook, and then watched in near-amazement as Hamid wrote down his phone number.

Hamid handed the notebook back. “It really was excellent getting to meet you, Raoul. And it really was a help in getting through that.”

Raoul assumed he was talking about their psych appointments. “Thanks,” Raoul said, even though he had no idea what he could have done to help Hamid. “So, I’ll… talk to you later, I guess.” Not knowing what else to do, he held out his hand.

Hamid shook it. “I hope so.”

Raoul had the sudden urge to ask Hamid about what had happened during his appointment. He wanted to tell him everything that the psychiatrist had said to him, because there was no on else who could possibly understand.

As he watched the car drive away, and then headed towards his dorm building, Raoul couldn’t keep his mind off of Hamid.

He thought about what the psychiatrist had said. He wasn’t just bad and broken: there was something wrong with him, but it was something that could be defined, and there was something he could do with it. And, there were people like him. There was someone like him, who wanted to spend time with him.

Maybe, he thought for the first time in a very long time, he was going to be okay.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might write a sequel to this, but there's no definite plan.


End file.
